


i don't smoke

by itsinjustbeing



Category: Supernatural
Genre: Angst, Canon Compliant, Episode: s05e16 Dark Side of the Moon, Episode: s09e06 Heaven Can't Wait, M/M, Smoking
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-11-30
Updated: 2020-12-03
Packaged: 2021-03-09 19:40:20
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 2
Words: 3,163
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/27791659
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/itsinjustbeing/pseuds/itsinjustbeing
Summary: Dean smokes. Cas doesn't.
Relationships: Castiel/Dean Winchester
Comments: 2
Kudos: 37





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> title from a mitski song of the same name

Dean started smoking the day Sam returned from Flagstaff. 

He remembers the day Sam left so vividly. It was a sunny day, bright and warm. Dean woke up and Sam was just _gone_ . He remembers checking the bathroom, the hallways, the motel lobby, over and over again, each time his heart sinking further and further down his stomach. He remembers the moment he figured out that Sam was nowhere to be found. He remembers crying in the motel room when the panic started setting in, the quarter of a serving of spaghetti-o’s he ate last night climbing up his throat. He remembers the two days he spent afterward, in a panic, asking around if someone, _anyone,_ has seen a tall, lanky 15-year-old with a brown mop of hair. On the third day, John showed up back from a hunt. Dean tries not to remember what happened next. 

When Sam returned, it was a giant sigh of relief. John was out, again, left Dean behind _in case your stupid brother comes back,_ and it was just Sam and Dean. He couldn't even bring himself to get angry at his baby brother, couldn't tell Sam that he thought the kid was dead, that their life of hunting has finally caught up with them. Sam looked like he lost a couple of pounds, so Dean brought him along to the convenience store to get some food to eat.

Maybe it was an impulse buy. Maybe it was a physical manifestation of relief. Maybe it was a fuck you to John. Dean is still not sure why he bought the pack of cigarettes in the convenience store that day. Dean was nineteen at the time, and if he was being honest to himself, he was a bit surprised that he has never smoked in his life prior, and not for a lack of occasion. It wasn't like Dean was a prude or anything. He drinks, he fucks, it just never occurred to him to smoke. He has had a few bar escapades after his dad made him a fake ID when he looked old enough to be 21, but he hasn’t utilized it that much except for when he goes in to hustle pool, because nobody would look after Sam if he was away for long. Most of Dean’s drinking happened after hunts with his hunting buddies, hanging out with other kids who have fathers like John. Some of those kids smoked too, but Dean never smoked with them. John has let on in passing once that he thinks smoking is disgusting, and what is Dean but an obedient soldier to his father’s expectations? 

Dean bought a pack of Marlboro Red while Sam walked around the store. He cringed a little bit about how expensive the pack was, but figured that it was probably going to last him a couple of weeks. Besides, smoking curbs your appetite, so maybe in a way, he’s actually saving up money for food. He thinks of what his dad would think if he ever finds Dean smoking, but what’s a couple more bruises to hide? 

That night, while Sam was asleep, Dean stepped into the motel bathroom with his Marlboros and the silver lighter he typically uses for salt and burns. He considered going outside for a bit, but ultimately decided that the bathroom will do. The bathroom was decent if a little bit shabby. The grout on the tiled floor base of the tub was darker than in other areas, but Dean was just impressed that this motel even has a bathtub at all. Dean remembered to open the vent, then sat on the edge of the tub, popped open the small red pack, and picked up one cigarette. He rolled it around with his fingers, surprised that the cigarette was lighter than he thought it would be. _I could just crush this_ , he thought, _I could just crush this with my fingers and it would crumble so easily._ He figured he was right about that, but also remembered the eight dollars he spent on the pack. _Maybe in other states, it would be cheaper_ , he thought, not questioning why he's thinking of a future where he would even need to buy more cigarettes.

Finally, he placed the cigarette in his mouth and lit it up, inhaling while he held up the fire in front of the stick. He's seen enough westerns on motel televisions to know what he's doing, except for the part where the smoke fills up his lungs and suddenly the cinematic view that he had on smoking was washed away, replaced by the need to expel the smoke out of his body. He thought about Sam outside the door possibly waking up, and immediately toned down the coughing. After a few seconds, Dean was ready again. He let the smoke pool in his mouth this time and exhaled. Dean assumed he was doing it wrong (aren't you supposed to inhale the smoke and not just essentially gargle it?), but the resulting smoke cloud was so big and pillowy that he can't help but smile. He takes another hit, this time letting the smoke sit in his mouth and then flow right down his throat. It was tingly and scratchy, but not unbearably so.

He thinks of Lee, one of his hunter friends. Lee and Dean kissed once, after a few rounds of beers during a feisty poltergeist hunt that John allowed Dean to deal with together with the older hunter. Lee was smoking that night, and his mouth tasted like Dean's did now. John would have killed them if he knew, but he didn't, and until now Dean still wonders if he subconsciously chose the Marlboro Red because it was what Lee smoked. 

Dean took a few more drags until the cigarette finally ran out. He stood up, pressed the lit end of the stick onto the edge of the sink, and threw the stub into the trash can. He looked up at himself in the mirror. He suddenly felt foolish, like a loser hiding in the bathroom to smoke for the first time, which is exactly what he was doing. He felt a little stupid. Excited, too. _Sam is back and I'm doing something that will piss dad off_ , he thinks. He doesn't know why he found delight in the second statement, but the delight was there. 

Dean stepped out and turned off the lights. 

It took five days for Dean to finish the pack.


	2. Chapter 2

Cas smoked for the first time the day Dean dropped him off at the Gas-and-Sip. 

He remembers when Dean showed up at his job, the way his heart skipped a beat, seeing Dean smiling fondly at him as if the past couple of months didn’t just happen, as if their last interaction was in any means pleasant. He remembers the not-date, the Rit Zien, the car ride back to the motel when Dean realized that he was sleeping at the Gas-and-Sip and invited him over to stay the night. He remembers refusing, and Dean driving them to the motel anyway. 

"There, you're all bandaged up. You sprained it real bad, man, but at least it’s not broken.” Dean says with finality as he finishes up looking at Cas’ hand. Dean noticed the way Cas gingerly held it close to his torso and offered to take a look at it. They’re both fresh from the shower. Dean offered Cas a change of clothes, and now they’re both in t-shirts and sweats, and Cas’ hair is still wet and sticking to his head.

Dean hasn’t let go of Cas’ hand, hasn’t moved away at all. He looks up at Cas instead, and Cas realizes that they are impossibly close. Dean’s eyes flicker down to Cas’ lips, and Cas’ heart starts beating out of his chest.

Cas wants to enjoy this moment between them, is fully aware of what might happen next. Instead, he thinks of Dean silently driving him to the bus station the day he told Cas he can’t stay at the bunker. He thinks of sitting there in the passenger seat of the Impala, a small duffel bag of Dean’s old clothes in the backseat. He thinks about Dean packing up the bag, collecting up his own clothes that he doesn’t need anymore.  _ Expendable.  _ Like Cas. He thinks about Dean shoving the bag towards him, together with a wad of cash, his face almost seemingly apologetic, except Cas knows better, knows that if Dean really was sorry for him, they wouldn’t be in this situation in the first place. He thinks about how Dean refused to let him say goodbye to Sam, as if Sam wouldn’t even care if he’s around or not. He thinks back to Dean looking steely in the driver’s seat, silent and serious. There wasn’t any music playing, but Cas isn’t one to complain. He thinks about stepping out of the car, into the  _ real  _ world now, completely alone and with absolutely no idea how to survive. He thinks about looking back at Dean, who is looking straight ahead, refusing to meet Cas’ eyes. He remembers closing the door. He still wishes he slammed it shut instead.

He wants to be angry. He wants to be furious at Dean for kicking him out with no explanation, and now acting like he wants Cas, for sitting across him, eyes wandering at Cas’ lips.  _ We could have had it.  _ Cas thinks.  _ You could have had me, in the bunker, where this would be a more pleasant experience.  _ But they can’t have that, because Dean said he can’t stay and now they’re sitting on the one bed of this dingy motel room and Dean is shifting uncomfortably, knees knocking up against Cas’ thigh while he cradles Cas’ arm. 

Cas wants to be angry, but all his head is chanting is a mantra of  _ please, please, please. Please take me back in. I’m scared and alone. Please explain to me why I can’t stay. Please don’t kiss me now and leave in the morning. _

Except, Dean does kiss him. A chaste, close-mouthed kiss, their noses bumping against each other. When Dean pulls away, he stays close, hand cupping the side of Cas’ face. 

“Dean-” Cas murmurs. He wants to be angry, wants to want to push Dean away. But he isn’t, and he doesn’t. Instead, Cas lurches forward and kisses Dean back. Dean tastes like toothpaste, a minty flavour that Cas still hasn’t gotten used to in the weeks that he’s been human, but it’s pleasant in Dean’s mouth. Cas has imagined this, kissing Dean, during the nights in the Gas-and-Sip storage room when he can’t sleep, but his imagination is no match for the actual thing. Dean is surprisingly gentle with Cas, sweet and slow. There is an earnestness to the way Dean is currently sucking on his lower lip, and it makes Cas’ chest clench.

Dean pulls away and starts shifting around, and suddenly he is on Cas’ lap, arm wrapped around Cas' neck in an embrace. They're so close,  _ so close together.  _ Dean leans back down to resume the kiss, and Cas doesn’t know what to do, doesn’t know where to put his hands, barely knows how to make out, but he tries, for Dean. His hands were gripping Dean's clothes when he noticed that he was shaking. Dean’s hand comes up on Cas’ face, fingers running through Cas’ hair. Cas realizes: Dean is shaking too.

Dean’s hand crawls underneath Cas’ shirt, It feels scorching hot on Cas’ skin, and he lets Dean’s hand linger on his chest. He  _ wants.  _ He wants so bad he might cry. He feels his breath hitch on his throat, and for a second he’s afraid he might sob just like this, right into Dean’s mouth, but Dean shifts on his lap, and suddenly, his breath was hitching for a different reason. 

—————

They don’t speak about it.

Dean moves away from Cas the moment they both finish. He’s being silent, and not the comfortable kind. Cas is lying down on his side on the bed. Dean leans over to his bag, shuffles around for a bit.

Dean loved him. Cas knows this. Cas has known it since purgatory, when he saw Dean coming up to him in that stream, eyes bright, soul even brighter. Everything was so raw and transparent in that place, Dean’s intentions so pure and true there was no mistaking it for anything other than love. But then things have happened since then, and now Cas is not so sure about anything anymore.

Maybe it just so happened that purgatory brings out something in Dean that doesn’t exist in other planes of existence. Maybe now that Cas is human, he has become useless, and therefore unlovable. Maybe Dean never really loved him, and Cas was just seeing things that weren’t there. He wants to say something, wants Dean to turn around and face him, wants Dean to explain all of this, at once. He wants to ask Dean things he’s too terrified to hear the answers to.

Dean finally stops looking through his bag and picks out a pack of cigarettes. He takes one stick out and places it in his mouth. He lights it up and suddenly, the room smells of smoke. 

Cas knows about Dean and smoking. When he rebuilt his soul, Cas also rebuilt Dean’s memories, after all. He knows that Dean’s first time smoking was in a motel bathroom, that he has hidden the fact that he even smokes from John and Sam. He knows that it became more and more a regular occurrence after Sam left for Stanford. Cas cured Dean of his nicotine addiction when he raised him from hell, of course. But he knows, too, that Dean hopped back on the habit after moving in with Lisa. He saw Dean smoking once, while contemplating if he should ask his friend for help in heavenly affairs. 

He also knows that Dean never smoked in front of other people, always deeming it a private, personal act, in a way that Cas thinks Dean isn’t even aware of. Except, of course, after a one night stand, of which Dean has had plenty, where he would smoke to signify the end of the affair. Is this what Dean is doing now? Subconsciously telling Cas that this is over, this is never gonna happen again, that this is a one night stand and that’s it?

Cas can’t bear it. He wants to speak to Dean, or at least see his face. But if Cas learned one thing from being God, of all things, it’s that restraint is of import. Just because you want something does not mean you can have it. He tells himself that he needs to remember that.

What Castiel would give to see Dean’s soul now, to know him with the same certainty that he used to. 

“You take the bed, I’ll sleep on the couch,” Dean says. He doesn’t even make an attempt to turn around. Cas swallows and blurts out an  _ alright.  _ He thinks  _ Why kiss me if you can’t even bear to look at me?  _ But he doesn’t say it. He’s just tired. Maybe he has already asked for too much just by being here. Maybe Dean hates him, after all. 

Cas falls asleep staring at Dean’s back.

When Cas wakes up, Dean is not on the couch anymore. He hears the flow of water from the bathroom; Dean must be brushing his teeth. Cas looks around the room, and his eyes land on the Marlboro box Dean has left on the side table of the motel room. He picks it up, goes over to the cabinet where he placed his work clothes, and puts the pack in the back pocket of his jeans.  _ For later,  _ he thinks.

Dean drops Cas in the Gas-and-Sip that morning. He tells Cas that he’s sorry for kicking him out of the bunker. He tells Cas that he’s proud of him. He tells Cas to stay out of trouble, that he’s human now, that he should leave the worrying to Dean. He doesn’t talk about what happened last night, Cas tells himself that he is happy for the unacknowledged, relieved that they don’t have to deal with the fall out of what happened. Dean is leaving anyway, whether they talk about it or not. 

Dean gives him a little wave, and Cas knows he is dismissed. He moves off into the store. For once, he doesn’t look back.

—————

At 11 that night, Cas promptly closes up shop and, instead of settling in in the storage closet for the night, walks out to the woods with the pack of Marlboros he stole from Dean, and a cheap, orange, plastic lighter that he picked up on the counter of the Gas-and-Sip. He walks around for a bit until he finds an old log in one of the dense parts of the woods. 

He sits down and pulls out a cigarette. He’s lucky; the moon is out and shining brightly at everything. He flicks the lighter a few times until there is a stable flame. He lights up the cigarette.

He doesn't take a hit, doesn’t feel compelled to. He just watches as the stick burns, ash slowly falling off into the, mixing with the forest detritus on his feet. He can smell the smoke, and he remembers a time when this would have smelled just like molecules. That time is not now. Now the smell just reminds him of Dean.

Much like anything, Cas is only doing this for Dean, only smoking  _ because _ of Dean. Cas feels sick to his stomach. Dean is not here now, no matter what happened last night. It’s only Cas, only him, no Sam and Dean, no angels, no nothing. Ultimately, he is as alone as he could ever be. He has to live for himself. He knows this. He can’t be going out in the middle of the night to a random patch in the woods solely to smoke because he misses Dean. For one, it’s too much hassle and it impedes on his sleeping schedule. But also, how is he even going to maintain this habit? Buying cigarette packs costs money, and he needs all the cash he can save for an apartment. He feels foolish now. He feels like he could cry.

But Cas doesn’t cry. Instead, he waits for the stick to run out and flicks the cigarette butt on the ground and steps on it, He stands up and dusts off the back of his pants. He’s back to being Steve now. Steve, who is a sales associate. Steve, whose pain isn’t screaming out into the void for every Rit Zien to hear. Steve, who didn’t kiss Dean last night only to watch him leave again in the morning.

He walks back to the Gas-and-Sip, clutching Dean’s cigarettes with his functional hand.

Castiel never finishes the pack. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hi! This ended up angstier than I was expecting, hope that’s fine for y’all. (is it obvious that I'm still bitter abt what they did to cas in season 9?) The initial idea for this fic was the first chapter being the first time dean smoked, the second one being the first time Cas smoked, and the third one being when they smoked together for the first time. I’ve kind of ran out of ideas for the third chapter tho, so im marking this as finished, but who knows, i might come back and add a chapter of fluff in the future. As always, kudos and comments are super duper appreciated. I’m deancascore on tumblr if u wanna follow me over there. Thank you so much for reading <33


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